Nine Lives
by meeshiefeet
Summary: Originally written as a one shot for USS Caryl's 1st Word Prompt Fanfiction/Fanart Challenge. WORD PROMPT: Silence. Takes place after Episode 4.8 "Too Far Gone". As of Episode 4.10 "Inmates" the story is AU, but will follow canon as closely as possible. After the fall of the prison, Daryl's been looking to reunite the group and finds Carol in a less than idyllic town.
1. All The World's A Stage

Carol stared down at the slowly approaching car. Crouching behind the short parapet along the edge of the roof, she made herself as invisible as possible. Being on her own had been difficult, not just because of walkers, but also because she trusted no one. The living were far more dangerous than the dead these days. She squinted against the sun and intentionally slowed her breathing as the car pulled into the gas station about 50 yards from her.

The driver-side door opened and a male figure stepped carefully onto the pavement. A bolt of recognition hit her and she choked back his name before it came to her lips, not daring to make a sound. He'd found her. He'd been looking for her and he'd found her … here. "Be careful what you wish for…" she thought as she moved into action. She needed to reach him before they noticed.

This area was teeming with diseased walkers, but they were only the tip of the iceberg. Just yesterday she'd witnessed the local group of survivors savagely murder a young family who had the misfortune of finding this town. The locals wanted supplies, of course, but they also enjoyed the massacre. It was their entertainment. Their sport. They were holed up in an armory on the outskirts of town, and they had no qualms about making use of the weapons they had found inside. No qualms about torturing and killing the unlucky who wandered into their domain, either.

She glanced toward the fortified stone building apprehensively. If they were out on their usual patrols, they'd spot the new vehicle in minutes. She silently scrambled over to the roof hatch, climbed down a series of ladders and landed softly backstage. This old theater was a good hiding spot for someone on her own. The roof offered a relatively safe place to keep tabs on the living, and the dead struggled with the ladders. When a patrol entered the building a few days earlier, none of them thought to look up to the catwalks above the stage as they checked every nook and cranny below. Carol took no chances, though. She had camouflaged the tiny lighting platform that served as her refuge with backdrop curtains to make it blend in with the rest of the stage rigging. Nobody would find her unless they climbed, and then they'd be in for a hell of a fight.

She had made a habit of creeping onto the roof for a few minutes each morning and evening, to check on the state of things and plan her supply runs. The rest of the day she would sleep, saving her energy for venturing into the darkness, when the patrols were far less frequent. She found it surprisingly easy to sleep now that she had nothing to lose. Her rest had always been fitful in the past, even before the world went to hell. The tiniest noise used to startle her awake. But now she found herself slumbering peacefully for hours at a time, vivid dreams playing out in her mind. Not unexpectedly, some of those dreams were nightmares, but most brought a smile when she woke. She often dreamt of Lizzie and Mika, singing silly songs or picking flowers. Once they were with Sophia, playing hopscotch in the courtyard.

Another dream featured Glenn, Maggie and Beth throwing a birthday party for Judith. That was her favorite, because everyone from her prison family was there, sharing a cake she had managed to bake in a rig made of terra cotta pots. She could see all their beaming faces ... Sasha, Michonne and Hershel applauding as Rick and Carl helped Judith blow out her candle. Tyreese holding Lizzie and Mika high in the air so they could see better. And Daryl, standing off to the side licking leftover icing off his fingers.

Every time she drifted to sleep, she hoped she could return to that celebration, full of love and joy and family. It hadn't come back to her, but still, she had the memory of it. Even if it wasn't real, it was something to cling to in her isolation. Something to focus her mind on in the silence.

* * *

Daryl did a quick 360 and started down the street, crossbow at the ready. He spotted a small cluster of walkers in an alleyway, feeding on rats, and quietly slinked past them. The broken storefront windows gave him a view inside each building without needing to enter, so he decided to do a sweep of the whole street before checking the individual structures.

He moved stealthily past a handful of buildings before spotting movement in the post office ahead. More walkers were feeding, this time on humans. Their meal hadn't been dead long. He paused and studied what he could see of the dead woman's clothing, half ripped away from her body. It didn't look familiar. Probably not Carol. She didn't have any clothes like that at the prison, but she could have picked up some new things in the months since he'd seen her. There was no way to be sure.

Muffled voices filtered into his consciousness and he spun toward them. They were male, and coming from a block over. He crossed the street toward them and crouched low, peering around the corner. Four men dressed in riot gear were walking along, having an animated conversation about sloppy seconds and debating who got to go first next time. A walkie crackled to life, the voice on the other end saying something about the gas station, causing the men to unholster their weapons.

Daryl ducked back around the corner, but at that moment, putrid hands grabbed at him and knocked his crossbow away. A walker had followed him from the post office, and he could see it had the sickness. He kicked it away and had almost reached his crossbow as a blade went through the back of the walker's head. A woman wearing a surgical mask yanked her knife out as the walker crumpled at her feet.

* * *

Carol and Daryl locked eyes and held their gaze for a few fleeting moments. She pulled her mask down and put a finger to her lips to make sure he stayed quiet, waving for him to follow her. They needed to get out of sight as quickly as possible. She led Daryl in a path opposite the patrol and then lunged to her left and headed down an alley. They reached a heavy metal door that appeared to be closed, but a thin shim of wood wedged at the bottom had prevented its latching. She yanked open the door, grabbed the shim, and pulled him into the blackness inside. After closing the door gingerly so it made minimal noise as the lock bar engaged, he heard her fumble for something in her pocket. A tiny penlight came on and gave just enough light for him to make out her features. It struck him how much he'd missed her face, now that he was seeing it again. Before he could say anything, her big, blue eyes turned away from him, and she gestured for him to keep following.

Moving quickly and quietly, she led him through a maze of hallways until the space around them opened up and he could no longer see the walls and ceiling in the feeble light. He followed as she climbed a ladder, then carefully navigated a catwalk to another one. At the top of the second ladder, she guided him to a small platform draped with heavy black curtains. She crawled into the makeshift shelter and he followed, barely making it inside before they heard the voices again. Carol flicked her penlight off, but instead of the finding themselves in darkness, the light intensified around them. Flashlights were beaming throughout the place and for the first time, Daryl could see some features of the space around them. They were in some sort of auditorium, and the men's voices below seemed to be everywhere at once, amplified by the acoustics of the architecture.

"Engine's still warm and they dropped a bleeder headin' this way. Gotta be close," a gruff, low voice boomed. Carol suppressed the nausea spreading through her stomach. She recognized that voice. Remembered the amusement in it when the family was tortured and butchered the day before. She tried closing her eyes, but when she did, all she could see was that bloody scene, so she opened them again and watched the flashlights scan around them. Her breath caught as one of the beams swung up toward the catwalks. It travelled slowly along the lower set, then moved up to the platform, where it lingered for a few seconds.

"Clear! Better try the clinic," yelled a second voice below them. She found her breath again and slowly exhaled. She was no longer afraid of walkers or even dying, but she knew better than to take on this group. Their viciousness made Ed look like a true gentleman in comparison. It had been pure luck that they hadn't noticed her walk into town, her life likely saved by her station wagon's snapped serpentine belt, lying brittle and tear-stained in the woods a few miles down the road.

The flashlights and voices moved toward the front doors as the group headed outside to check the other buildings. Carol and Daryl sat silently in the darkness, waiting until they were certain the men had left.

* * *

After a few minutes in the pitch black, Carol began to wonder if Daryl was really next to her. She'd been on her own so long, could she have hallucinated the whole thing? Perhaps it was another dream. She hesitantly reached out and brushed his leg with her fingertips.

"You okay?" he whispered low. A smile tugged the corners of her mouth as she realized she hadn't imagined him after all.

"Yes," she whispered back, her voice ragged from lack of use. She barely recognized it as her own. "Those men. They're monsters ... worse. I've been laying low for a couple weeks, trying to figure out how to get out of this place. Their patrols seem to be random - I just can't figure out the timing." She started to feel desperation, but pushed it down. She was strong. She would survive. And now she had Daryl beside her. Her desperation melted away. Maybe they could make it out this place. Maybe Rick would understand her motivations. Maybe she could join the others. Start again.

"Lizzie? Mika?" she asked. Daryl remained silent. Carol's chest grew heavy.

"Governor came back. Had a damn tank. With the sickness, we was outnumbered. Governor's dead, but the prison's no good anymore. Lost a lot of people ... lost Hershel. We got split up and I only found a few so far," he finally explained. "They mighta made it out, them girls. Beth couldn't find 'em so we don't know for sure. Just a small group of us now. Found a cabin. Been holed up there, gettin' back on our feet, lookin' for the others."

The news rocked her. She had worried her girls might be lost to the sickness. It was a shock to find out that madman had returned and orchestrated a slaughter, and now they were lost somewhere, or worse. Just like Sophia. But they weren't just like her daughter. She had made sure of that. It gave her a flicker of hope.

Her eyes grew tired in the darkness. Hershel dead. The others missing. It was too much, so she began to compartmentalize, mentally walling off these revelations for later. For now, she needed to focus on the gift that was Daryl finding her; she needed the comfort of his presence. Wanting to see his face again, she pulled out the penlight and switched it on. It slowly glowed to life and she watched him blink a few times to adjust. Weak as it was with its dying battery, the light was still jarring in the total darkness.

As her own eyes adjusted and he came into focus, she managed a weak smile. "I knew I'd see you again."

She moved nearer to him and brushed his hair out of his eyes, leaning in close to kiss his cheek. Daryl tensed slightly as a wave of conflicting feelings washed over him. Physical closeness was not something he usually found comfortable, but this was Carol. The reflex to jerk away faded as quickly as it had arisen, and he reached around her waist and drew her against his chest. He held her close for a minute, maybe more, until she shifted, settling on his lap and laying her head on his shoulder. Relief spread over him as he breathed in her familiar scent. The last time they were this close, he'd been carrying her from the tombs, grateful she was alive. This moment felt like an echo of that one ... the same closeness ... the same gratitude. He'd found her alive, again.

* * *

Carol gave in to her fatigue and let her eyes close. Slipping into sleep, she absentmindedly stroked his arm, her fingertips skimming softly against his sun-weathered skin. Her touch sparked an almost electric hum in his chest. He reflexively flinched, rousing her just enough to make her realize what she was doing. She lifted her head and looked up at him, a slight blush in her cheeks. He stared back at her, torn between acting on the hum he was feeling and remaining controlled, rational, a warrior at the ready.

She didn't give him a chance to decide, tilting upward toward him, grazing his lips with hers. When he didn't object, she laced her fingers around his neck and pulled him into another kiss ... long, lingering. Daryl felt an urgency creeping over him, and fought to keep it at bay. He was losing himself in unfamiliar territory. Not that he'd never been with women. When Merle wasn't doing a stretch at the state pen, he often used Daryl as a wingman at the raucous roadhouses they frequented. But this was different. Those flings were meaningless; he never even bothered to lie about wanting a phone number afterwards. But Carol. Carol was everything good about himself. He never had someone like that in his life. Everything he touched turned to shit and he wasn't about to let that happen with her. Unnerved, he put his hand on her shoulder and pressed her lightly away from him.

She surveyed his expression as he studied the railing, unable to meet her eye, confusion deepening the soft lines the years were tracing on his face. Not wanting to press him, she allowed him time and space to sort out his thoughts. His breathing was uneven and she felt his hand, still pressed against her shoulder, grasp at the fabric of her shirt, simultaneously pushing her away and pulling her close. "I ... you..." he started, but couldn't form a sentence.

"Us," she answered.

He turned and stared hard at her. "Us?" he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "No. Gettin' close to people, everythin' gets messed up. I ain't no good with..." he trailed off again.

"We are good. Together, we're good. After Sophia ... Merle. We've come back from the bad things, Daryl. We did that. We made it good again," she replied.

Her words flooded through him. She'd always seen him as the man he wanted to be, the man she had helped him become, even when he didn't see it himself. He tightened his grip on her shirt and pulled her back to him, startling her with the fierceness of his mouth against hers, his calloused hands moving rapidly to her jawline as she responded in kind.

Carol allowed herself the indulgence for a few precious seconds before slowing the pace, easing them back from what would have been the right thing at the worst possible time. She reluctantly began to lean away from him, whispering, "Sorry, Pookie."

"Stop," he replied low, giving her the half-smile he reserved only for her as he stroked her cheek with his thumb.

She beamed back at him, "Guess we need a plan." The odds were against them, but that was no different than any other day. They'd survive. They always had.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, they climbed to the roof and scouted the path they thought would be least visible to the patrols. Several plans and contingency plans later, they made their way to the stage door. Daryl shifted his crossbow and placed his free hand on the door to open it, but hesitated.

He turned back to her, straining to see her as the penlight sputtered through its last bit of battery. He cupped her face and leaned in, lightly kissing her forehead. "Stay safe," he whispered as low as he could.

Carol gently placed her hand on his and smiled. "Nine lives, remember?"

Daryl nodded, turned back to the door and pushed through.


	2. Sense Memory

_TRIGGER WARNING: attempted sexual assault, violence similar to the show_

_A/N: I do not own these characters. As of Episode 4.10 Inmates, this story is AU, but will follow canon as closely as possible. Special thanks to atoizzard for being a beta reader. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

It took all of his willpower to push away the haze creeping into his vision. Though he couldn't discern the words through the ringing in his ears, he clearly understood the tap of the cold barrel against his temple. Stay conscious or they both die.

Daryl was on his knees on the concrete floor, hands lashed behind his back. He concentrated on the zip tie tearing at his wrists, the bite of plastic teeth focusing his vision on her. He noticed a fresh welt swelling around the trickle of blood staining her cheek, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. She sat compliantly in a wooden chair, hands folded on her lap, appearing almost meditative as he knelt across from her. The red rimming her eyes was the only indication of discomfort while she endured a blond man cowering over her, toying with her hair.

"I asked you a question, asshole," the sentence filtered into his brain as his ears began to clear. "Where'd you get it?" the gunman growled, thrusting the barrel harder against his skull.

Carol's eyes met his and he remained mute. He didn't like what she had convinced him of earlier, but he trusted her. Everything had gone south when they were caught and they were out of options. He knew it was their only chance at making it out of here alive. Their last contingency plan.

"Screw you," Carol answered the man holding the gun to Daryl's head.

The gunman turned toward her with a cool expression. "Patience, darlin'. You'll get your chance soon enough," he replied stoically. She fought to keep her nerve as she noticed his eyes mirrored the cinderblock walls surrounding them. Cold, gray and … flat. The vacancy of emotion sent a chill through her. She could deal with anger and rage, had years of experience with that, but this…. She forced herself not to think about it.

"But since you're feelin' chatty, how 'bout you tell us where you got this?" he asked, holding up the semi-automatic pistol that matched his own.

They'd left the owner of that gun tied up in the back room of the post office, alive, but unconscious. She was certain the guy's luck had run out a while ago. If this pair hadn't been so wrapped up in making her watch as they beat Daryl within an inch of his life, they might have been able to save their friend. Carol shifted slightly in her chair and braced herself for what was coming. "Your man's breathin' … or he was an hour ago. Probably the midnight buffet right about now," she replied steadily, surprising herself with how casual she sounded.

The fingers in her hair seized and forced her head backwards as the blond man leaned in close, his rank breath smothering her. "I think we oughta teach this bitch to show a little respect, Smitty," he suggested, his anticipation making her skin crawl.

Daryl flinched, but the gun against his head kept him tethered to the spot. He took a breath to tamp back the adrenaline threatening to spread through his bloodstream. She was doing exactly what he had tried to talk her out of before. Exactly what she had spent years of her life with Ed trying to avoid. All that practice of smoothing things over before they got out of hand, and now she was turning that skill upside down, drawing the ire. Provoking.

He'd done that once too, the last time he saw his daddy. The smell of bourbon hung thick in the air and it hadn't taken much to poke the bear. He remembered the satisfaction he felt when he ducked the bottle aimed at his head. He could claim self-defense, if it ever came to that. The sheriff didn't much care for his family so an investigation probably wouldn't be at the top of the man's priority list.

He'd walked out the door that night with a bloody nose and bloody knuckles, cursing himself for his impulsive act. Sometimes he still wondered if he would change the way it ended if he could go back. He'd never forgiven himself for letting the son of a bitch live. He wouldn't make the same mistake with these bastards.

* * *

Carol tried not to breathe too deeply. Even adapted to the stench of death, she felt sick from this man's breath in her face. The sense memory slammed into her and she was right back in one of Ed's fits of rage. But this wasn't Ed, and she couldn't let herself go there. Daryl was depending on her. She looked up at the man holding her head back and let a slow smile spread across her mouth. "Teach me respect? Like you could teach a woman anything," she whispered just loud enough for him alone to hear.

He was crushing her with his body weight before her brain even registered the pain of impact with the hard floor. She yelped when his teeth tore at her lip and he forced his knee between her thighs.

"Don't even think about it," the gunman commanded Daryl as he turned to watch to the scene unfolding in front of him. "Alright, get it out of your system. I could use a little light entertainment before the main event."

Panic threatened to overtake her. She knew this would happen. Counted on it. But living it was far more difficult than she had anticipated. Her screams echoed off the walls before she could push the terrible flashbacks out of her mind, each bite and slap from the monster on top of her doubled with the weight of her past. She glimpsed Daryl and saw the pain etched into his features. She recognized that he was nearing the breaking point. The one where he would ditch the plan and just do something, anything, the way he used to do when they first met. That would mean the end for both of them, and she couldn't bear the thought. She forced herself to watch for an opportunity to make her move. It didn't take long. The blond reached down to rip at the button of her pants, and she flipped the scalpel out of the sleeve of her free arm.

The gurgling of air bubbles subsided almost immediately, but the blood continued to flow from his throat, the warmth of it soaking her arm and chest as she tried to catch her breath. She looked up to see the gun slip away from Daryl's head and take its aim at hers.

Daryl hurled his shoulder upward into the gunman's hip, sending them both crashing into the wall. The ringing returned to his ears and he lost his balance, his bound hands preventing him from catching himself before he hit the floor. A stabbing pain replaced the air in his lungs when the steel-toed boot made contact with his ribcage. But the burning pressure in his chest was quickly forgotten as the butt of the gun came down against his skull, rendering him unable to move. He desperately wanted to see her face one last time, to apologize for failing her, but the room was fading too quickly. He heard the shot and everything went black.

* * *

The spray of the creek splashed his cheek as he leaned back, head resting on his arms under the shade of the pines. The smell of fresh earth surrounded him and he watched the treetops sway lazily in the breeze. The whoosh of the water over the rocks next to him was starting to lull him to sleep. He'd spent the day out in the woods, as usual. It was more of a home to him than that rickety old house had ever been. He would stay here forever if he could.

Another splash hit him and he thought he heard something. Someone. There shouldn't be anyone for miles, but there it was again. A voice. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around for the source. The voice sounded frantic. She was in trouble. She needed him. A sudden, searing pain gripped him and he thought his head might split in two. The sunshine dissolved and he heard her again, clearly this time.

"Daryl! Daryl, wake up. Please wake up. Please." Another tear fell onto his cheek as she rocked back and forth, holding his head in her lap and begging him to hear her. Carol watched his eyes flutter open and close again. She balled up her fist and ground it against his sternum, eliciting a low growl. Relief washed over her when he responded to the pain. He was conscious. His eyes opened to slits and he grumbled, "What the hell? Tryin' to kill me or what?"

His sass caused a few more tears to fall from her eyes, but they were no longer shed in fear. He would be okay. He came back to her. "I could never," she replied, hoping he didn't notice the quiver that had slipped into her voice.

He opened his eyes fully and searched hers. The concussion hadn't made him any less observant. Then he remembered the shot. He thought his name was on that bullet, but the pain rolling through him wasn't from a gunshot. He gingerly sat up, letting Carol help him balance, and saw the man who took it. The thug who'd been holding the gun to his head was sprawled in front of him, eyes open and glassy. Her bloody handprint painted the grip of the stolen pistol next to him on the floor.

Carol stared down at her shirt, saturated and beginning to stick to her skin. Now that she knew Daryl was alright, she began to feel the impact of what had just happened. The metallic smell of blood was immediately overpowering, and she yanked the shirt over her head and threw it into the corner.

Daryl touched her shoulder, but she shrugged away from him. "I'm okay," she said, her voice lined with an unintentional edge. He shifted to face her head on. "I'm ... I'll be okay," she tried to assure him, but he wasn't convinced. Not wanting to push her, he remained silent as she stood and walked out of the storeroom and into the front of the building.

They'd been taken to the gas station, and she was all too happy to rummage through the touristy clothing rack near the register. She grabbed a Georgia Tech t-shirt and ripped the tags off before unhooking her red-stained bra and letting it drop as she slipped the shirt over her head. She could still smell the blood on her skin, but it was a start. She glanced at the nearby cooler cases, long ago emptied of their contents. She'd have to wait until they found some other source of water before she could scrub her skin. "Out, damn spot," she thought as she turned back to the storeroom.

* * *

Daryl gathered up the guns and slipped the dead men's knives into his belt, holding his ribs as he went. The darkness would be lifting soon, and they needed to get to the trees. He found his crossbow just inside the door to the storeroom and winced as he slung it over his shoulder. Carol took the guns and a knife from him and they headed toward the exit. Two walkers were wandering around the parking lot, but there didn't seem to be a patrol nearby. They slipped out and skirted the now disabled car Daryl had driven into town.

They both breathed a little easier when they got close enough to see the walkers weren't diseased. Knives swinging almost synchronously, they eliminated the threat and headed for the woods. The sound of an approaching patrol reached them just as they stepped onto the soft beds of pine needles. It wouldn't take long for those men to discover the scene at the gas station, so they risked moving faster over covering their tracks. In a matter of minutes, they were picking their way through thorny shrubs, the branches stabbing into their skin with each step, hoping nature's deterrent would prevent anyone following them.

Carol didn't mind the distraction of the scratches. It kept her from thinking about the past 24 hours. The roller coaster of emotions had pushed her to her limits, and she felt her thoughts seeping through the cracks of the walls she had built around them. As the sun began to lighten the sky, she watched Daryl's back heaving with labored breaths and marveled at his ability to trudge onward. He was almost certainly concussed and his ribs were bruised at the very least, and yet, he was almost losing her as he pressed forward. She remembered how much her own bruised ribs had hurt. How each breath had felt like a dagger below her heart. She made a mental note to check his ribs for cracks once they stopped. If they ever stopped. She was beginning to wonder if that moment would come when Daryl slowed his pace.

She startled when he spoke; neither of them had said a word since leaving the gas station. They'd simply fallen into their routine of easy silence. "Looks like a good place to rest," he said, pointing at a tree ahead. She never would have noticed the camouflaged hunting blind halfway up if he hadn't pointed it out. "If they're following us, they won't find us very easily." He walked ahead and found the makeshift rope ladder hanging from the blind. "Lemme check it first," he said, laying his crossbow against the tree trunk and putting his knife in his teeth as he started climbing.

Carol held her breath when he reached the top and disappeared inside. "All clear. We got lucky. There's some water and jerky up here, too" he said as he leaned out of the opening above the ladder. She exhaled and realized she hadn't let herself think about her thirst until that moment. Her mouth went even drier. Daryl started to climb back down for his crossbow but she waved him back. She threw it over her shoulder and started up the ladder. He needed to stop moving, and the sooner she was in the blind, the sooner she could soothe her throat and wash away some of the blood, dirt and sweat that made her skin itch with every tiny movement.

She pulled herself into the blind and took in the sight of the tight space. It wasn't much in the way of comfort, but to her it was a miracle. It was a space to rest, away from the hell she'd been living in the past couple of weeks. She pulled the rope ladder up into the blind and closed the flap over the entrance, shutting out the world.


End file.
